


OSAWATOMIE, KANSAS - PRESENT DAY

by Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Flashbacks, Gay Sex, Handcuffs, M/M, Whiskey - Freeform, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/pseuds/Zoi%20no%20miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Run", says Miles, and Bass does, even though he has nowhere and no-one to run to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	OSAWATOMIE, KANSAS - PRESENT DAY

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElDiablito_SF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/gifts).



> Dear Recip - I creeped on your LJ a bit to try and personalize and I hope that the choice of music mentioned isn't overly noobish. I hope this meets your Miloe desires!

**\- FLINT HILLS NATURE TRAIL, OSAWATOMIE, KANSAS - PRESENT DAY -**

_"You have a borderline erotic fixation with Miles Matheson."_

_Fucking Neville_ , Bass thought angrily, thighs gripping the flanks of the palomino gelding he'd appropriated somewhere in the middle of Kansas, when the militia horses he'd ridden hard through the night and most of the following day had finally faltered. The freak lightning storm had been the one blessing he'd had that night, providing the perfect distraction for him to snag the horses and get away from the tower. From Neville, that fucking traitorous mutineer, who couldn't even stop at turning his men against him - no, he had to humiliate him about Miles on top of it all!

_Fucking Miles_ , he thought next, because it was easier to feed the rage that boiled in his core than to think about everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours. Miles rescuing him, everything he'd said....

Bass clamped down on the clench of pain that shot through him, willing his mind back to anger and spurring the palomino on. Miles wasn't worth anything more.

His target was a safe house outside the former town of Osawatomie in Kansas, one of many that he and Miles had quietly created throughout their Republic. He had no guarantee that it was still intact; he hadn't set foot in it since they'd set it up, a year before deciding that maintaining their stronghold in Kansas and the miserable shithole of a swamp that was Missouri wasn't worth the Republic's resources. But he needed supplies, food, definitely weapons, and a place to regroup and plan. He couldn't be certain that the Republic would welcome him back, not after Neville's betrayal. Osawatomie was his best, and closest, bet.

The moon was high when he reached his destination, and he regarded the old farmhouse cautiously, all senses alert for any sign of human habitation. The roads leading out to the old farmhouse had been lit with the occasional intact streetlight, which he'd been careful to avoid, relying instead on moonlight. If the power grid still extended to this house there was no sign of it; no flickers of electric or firelight from the windows. He looped the palomino's reins around a fence rail, then unsheathed the hunting knife that had been in one of the horses' packs and started towards the house, regretting the loss of his pistol, his sword - anything that would have made him more prepared to defend himself.

His caution proved unnecessary. A careful check of the house by candlelight proved it barely hospitable: the windows blown out and half of the roof rotted out from water damage. The stairs, railings, baseboards, cabinets, and anything else even remotely usable as fuel had been stripped out by looters, like many of the small settlements in the area, and from the layer of dust on the floor it seemed that no-one had been there in some time.

Bass cleared away the brush and topsoil at the side of the house where the storm cellar stairs had been located before he and Miles had filled them in. It was easy to recover the hammer and chisel they'd left there under a flat piece of slate, taking them back into the house, into a corner of what had once been the kitchen and going to work on the tile.

Now that he'd reached the safe house, Bass felt reasonably secure. Only a few, trusted people had ever known about the existence of this safe house, and the only one still alive was Miles, who obviously had far more important things to do than chase him. Beneath the mud-stained kitchen tiles he had started to pry up was a trap door they'd installed as the only entrance to the storm cellar. Inside, a refuge, an ample stock of weapons, supplies, and a tidy cash of gold and drugs that would be able to buy him safe passage anywhere in the US.

We'll always be safe, Miles had told him, words murmured against his skin like a kiss.

Heaving aside the last chunk of tile, Bass found the latch and heaved open the trapdoor. Picking up the pillar candle he'd lit from the floor, he carefully descended the steps into the cellar, searching the area for any danger as the flickering light cast the shapes of the furniture into harsh relief. His eyes fell on the cord that dangled from the still intact light bulb, and on impulse reached up to pull it, stepping back as the cellar was unexpectedly illuminated.

Electricity.

Bass stared at the bulb until there were sunspots behind his eyelids when he blinked. Fifteen years with no power. He couldn't stop his thoughts from going back to that last night before the power had gone out, to everything that had happened....

_No_. Bass pushed those memories away firmly, blowing out the candle and setting it on one of the shelving units that had been built against the walls by the house's previous occupants. Now was definitely not the time to think about Miles.

It only took a few moments for him to verify that their supplies were still as they'd left them. Buckling the sword belt around his waist made him feel immediately less naked, as did holstering the Glock pistol - not as valuable as a trade item due to the unavailability of ammo, but they'd left a good stockpile here. It would get him where he needed to go.

Something tugged at his attention, a faint whine that he followed to a rather beat-up looking stereo system that sat at the bottom of one of the shelving units, plugged into an orange extension cord that hung from the ceiling. There was a CD spinning in the player, and, curious, he turned up the volume.

Puccini's Turandot. He didn't immediately recognize the singers, but the score - the score he knew well. He hadn't heard this for fifteen years, despite the stacks of records and wind up gramophones housed in Independence Hall. He couldn't bear to hear it, couldn't bear to remember...

_God, Miles._

**\- INT. HOTEL ROOM, ATLANTA, GEORGIA - 24 HOURS BEFORE THE BLACKOUT-**

Bass hadn't meant to leave the opera soundtrack playing, but he was glad he had. The speakers of the hotel room's iPod dock were cheap, but it gave him something to focus on besides the slight discomfort of the handcuffs that bound him to the headboard, or the fact that he'd been half hard for far too long. His thoughts wandered between Puccini's composition and the anticipation of things to come, of Miles, finding him here like this. He couldn't be too much longer....

Bass heard the card reader beep outside the hotel room, and for a moment his heart caught in his throat. Then the door opened to familiar brown eyes and that smirk of a smile, to the most familiar and longed for face in Bass's world.

"You're really naked." Miles let the door fall closed behind him, toeing off his shoes at the entry as his eyes raked down Bass's body.

Bass fought the urge to shiver, instead wetting his lips and meeting Miles' gaze with confidence. "Are you complaining?"

"Have I ever complained about you being naked?" Miles shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over the bench where Bass had left his own clothes, neatly folded. "So this is my anniversary surprise?" He dropped his hand to trail over Bass's ankle, smiling at the shiver it produced.

"And the whiskey."

Miles glanced to the bottle that sat on the table next to a pair of brandy snifters, a thick red ribbon tied around the neck. Miles pulled off the ribbon and picked up the bottle. "The Yamazaki single malt whiskey, aged 18 years." He grinned at Bass. "Now I don't know which to enjoy first."

It was, Bass had to admit, a slightly selfish gift. "Pour a splash and bring it with you."

Miles cracked the seal without argument, though his eyes remained on Bass as he poured a generous amount in the bottom of the snifter. "This is quite the risky situation you've put yourself in, sergeant. What if someone else had found you like this?"

Bass laughed breathlessly at the thought. "Don't be silly. You always find me."

"I do, don't I?" Miles' step towards the bed was more of a saunter, setting the snifter and the red ribbon from the bottle down on the bedside table before half kneeling at Bass's side. He reached over him to turn off _Turandot_ , then cupped his cheek with one rough hand that slid up into his blonde curls. "Good thing, too. This is all mine."

Bass let his eyes close momentarily, leaning into Miles' touch. The heat of his skin and the rich warmth of his cologne was familiar, but never failed to make his heart beat faster. "Miles, please...."

He watched Miles smile, dark and promising, as he took a sip of the whiskey, humming approvingly. Then he leaned down to catch Bass's mouth with his own, lips sweet and smoky and flavored by the whiskey, licking past his lips to do battle with his tongue, trying to own and devour Bass all at once. It was a tantalizing taste of what Bass wanted so badly, and when Miles pulled away he whined despite himself, disappointed.

Miles' smile was amused but not unkind. "My very own naked Bass. Now I'm just supposed to rip my clothes off and have my way with you?"

"Whatever you want," Bass replied, breath hitching as Miles' hand smoothed over his chest, toying with the fine curls of blond hair briefly before continuing down. He ran his fingertips up the length of Bass's half-hard dick, smiling at the way it made Bass hiss and strain towards him. "I'm your present."

"All mine?" Miles continued to tease and stroke, smile widening at Bass's sigh of pleasure. "I think my present's missing something." He reached to grab the ribbon off the bedside table, dragging the thin piece of silk of Bass's nipples, smiling as his voice hitched. He leaned down to draw his tongue up the length of Bass's dick, sucking liberally at his head and stroking the silk along his shaft and over his ball sack.

"Please...." Bass gasped, feeling hard as nails, gasping as Miles looped the ribbon behind his balls and around his dick. He tied it in a neat red bow, tight enough to be just shy of painful, to keep Bass hard and erect and aching for more sensation.

Miles groaned as he ran his tongue along the ribbon, desire darkening his eyes as he pulled back to look at Bass. "There. Now you're perfect."

More than anything Bass just wanted Miles to take him, to fuck him hard and fast and frantic. But Miles liked to be in charge, liked to call the shots, to watch him squirm and beg. "God, Miles, want you so bad...."

Miles's questing fingers stroked down along the crease of his ass, pausing to stroke over his hole, one pressing inside slowly. "You even got yourself ready for me. Just wanted me to burst through that door and fuck your needy little asshole, didn't you?"

"Always," Bass gasped, because it was the truth, because he'd agree with anything if it meant Miles fucking him sooner. "You know I'm addicted to your cock."

"Then I can't let my baby go hungry, can I?" Miles eyes never left him as he stood, shucking off his jeans and skivvies and pulling his shirt off over his head. Bass drank in the sight, eyes caught on Miles's dick, bobbing thick and long as it sprang free from its constraint, and as Miles moved to kneel over his chest he opened his mouth obediently. Miles's cock was hot and slightly bitter from precum as it slid against his tongue, but it was perfect, perfect to lose himself to Miles's will and desire, to let Miles fuck his throat until he could hardly breathe, one hand tight in Bass's hair as the other stroked his bound dick.

"Perfect," Miles hissed again, breathless from desire as he pulled back, cock slick and wet. Without delay he'd moved between Bass's thighs, pulling his calves up to rest against his shoulders as he entered him with one swift thrust. "So gorgeous like this, baby, I can't even... fuck, you feel so good!"

The sensation of being filled by the girth of Miles's dick was still overwhelming no matter how many times they'd had sex, and Bass could never get enough, pressing up against him to encourage more. Miles was just as good at fucking as he was at everything else, always seeming to know how Bass needed it. Today it was frantic and gradual both, slamming into him hard and fast before drawing back, easing into him in a smooth stroke and stimulating Bass's prostate to almost the point of madness. It was the look in Miles's eyes that overwhelmed him, though, the mix of desire and tenderness and possessiveness, the love that Bass would go to the ends of the earth for but didn't have to because it was already here. Because Miles had always been here.

Miles shifted forward, moving Bass's thighs around his waist as he leaned in to catch his mouth in a hard kiss, grinding his cock in slow thrusts up into him before pulling back again. "Where's the key? Wanna watch you ride me."

"Table," Bass managed to gasp, and in moments his wrists were free. He pushed Miles onto his back without barely breaking his kiss, moving to rock down onto his cock with familiar ease.

"Not like that." Miles caught his hips tightly, pushing him back. "Turn around. Wanna watch you."

Bass found himself laughing, surprised as he did as he asked, bracing one hand on Miles's thigh as he let his ass grind against Miles's dick, glancing back at him over his shoulder. "Like this?"

"Just like that." Miles growled appreciatively, thrusting up into his ass as he rocked down against him. "Mmhmm.... show me how much you wanted me, baby."

It was easy to give in to Miles' request and his own hunger, rocking back hard onto the hard length of Miles's cock again and again, groaning as Miles's hands moved to clench and massage the cheeks of his ass, urging him to move hard. "Miles! God, Miles, I....!"

Pleasure stole the words from his mouth as he came, gasping with the pleasure that rushed through him. He cried out again as Miles followed, him, thrusting up into Bass's ass again and again and finally cumming inside him.

"My Bass. My angel baby, my love...." Miles's words were always sweet nonsense after sex, but Bass liked it anyway, liked being manhandled down into Mile's arms. "So perfect. Best anniversary present I could ever ask for."

"We have all night," Bass murmured with a smile, nestling his face into Miles's shoulder and licking along the rough skin just because he could.

**\- INT. SAFE HOUSE BASEMENT, OSAWATOMIE, KANSAS - PRESENT DAY -**

Bass bit down hard at the fleshy part of his palm as he came, slacks pushed down around his knees and shirt unbuttoned. Even the overwhelming pleasure of cumming couldn't push away the guilt, the anger he felt at himself for letting himself remember and giving into his desire to relive it. Hating himself, he cleaned the slick cum off his fingers with his handkerchief, then got up to straighten his clothes with hands that only shook a little. Fuck Miles. Fuck him for making him hope and then leaving again.

Fuck Miles for saving his sorry life.

Bass sighed, briefly longing to kick over the CD player for its affront to his memories. But it wouldn't change anything. Miles was gone, and all Bass could hope to do was pick up the shattered pieces of himself and move on.

A sudden pounding from upstairs made Bass dart for the light switch, throwing the room into darkness. The music played on, and he cursed under his breath, groping until he found the extension cord and yanked it from the wall.

The house fell into silence. Then he heard a soft, tentative voice. "....Bass?"

Bass? Who the fuck still called him Bass? Other than Miles -

Grabbing the Glock from his belt, he crept up the stairs to the main level as silently as possible. The only thing worse than a shoot-out was a shoot-out in a basement. With any luck the intruder would search the front rooms of the house first....

A flash of movement caught his eye, the silhouette of a man against the darkness of the sky. Bass fired on instinct, and the figure jerked back into the shadows, something clattering to the ground that Bass hoped was the man's weapon. "Fuck - I'm here to help, please don't kill me again!"

For a moment Bass couldn't move, couldn't process what his voice was hearing. He swallowed hard. "I'm going to light a candle. Don't make any sudden movements."

"No sudden movements," the voice repeated, and Bass crouched down carefully, setting the gun on the floor within reach as he pulled the candle and matches back out of his pocket, hands trembling. He knew this voice, he knew it, but it wasn't, couldn't be possible....

When the match flared to life he almost dropped it, bringing it to the wick blindly as he stared at the face that had come into view. "Jeremy!"

"Thanks for the warm welcome," the words were accompanied by a smirk, sarcastic and familiar, and though Jeremy's clothes were tattered and dusty compared to the neat militia uniform Bass was used to, he looked unhurt.

Bass dropped back onto his ass, staring, heart feeling as though it might burst. "You... you...."

"Still alive? Still dashingly handsome? Come to save your sorry ass? Yes, all of the above."

"But...."

The man who had once been his last friend on earth gave a smile that was only a little pitying, moving to kneel in front of him and tugging him into a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry," Bass managed to gasp despite the rush of emotion and the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears. "How did you find me? God, how are you alive?"

"The second is a long story that involves a lot of bribes, we can save that for the road. I found you 'cause I helped you make this damn place, when I got word of what went down in Colorado it seemed the most logical place for you to run to. Needed to get to you before Neville did. We have to get as far away from the Republic as we can, Bass."

Bass could understand the words, but he couldn't quite comprehend... "Why are you helping me? I ordered you killed!"

"You tried, but I expected that would happen at some point." Jeremy chuckled, shaking his head. "You're an idiot, Sebastian Monroe. But I'm still gonna take care of you."

Miles came to mind again with a surge of pain - Miles, calling him brother, rescuing him, and then deserting him again. Time and again. But Miles didn't want him now, and probably never would. And Jeremy was here.

Fuck this "borderline erotic fixation with Miles Matheson."

"We'll take care of each other," Bass said, holstering the Glock before standing, stepping back towards the trap door. He held out a hand to Jeremy. "Let's pack up and head out."

Jeremy searched his gaze for a moment, then took his hand, warm and real.

One lost friendship regained was more than he deserved, and Bass wasn't going to take that for granted again.


End file.
